Booze, Babes & Brawl
by Rassilon001
Summary: Fresh from their adventure saving the Galaxy, the Guardians make their way to a local club to gas up, wet their whistles, and take in the local scenery.
1. Booze

**Disclaimer:  
**I do not own Guardians of the Galaxy or any of its characters. They are all property of Marvel Comics, Marvel Studios and Paramount Pictures.

**Summary:  
**Fresh from their adventure saving the Galaxy, the Guardians make their way to a local club to gas up, wet their whistles, and take in the local scenery. Rated PG-13 for Action, Mild Cursing, and Suggestive Adult Themes.

* * *

It had been one hell of a week, even by the Starlord's standards.

Pilfered a priceless magic artifact. Spent a night in a Nova Corps prison. Clashed with space pirates and bounty hunters. Confronted an alien warlord. Saved the whole damned galaxy.

Found himself part of a team.

A team consisting of himself, two thugs, an assassin and a maniac. To say they weren't the poster boys for 'galaxy saviors' was putting it mildly. And yet, somehow, they'd pulled it off. And the name had stuck.

Now the Guardians of the Galaxy could just sit back and relax for a bit.

A soft beeping interrupted his thoughts and he kicked his feet off the console, leaning forward to inspect what his legs had obscured from view. "The Hell...?"

The screen had a simple, single warning in English font, blinking in unison with the soft beeping of the alarm. Peter grumbled, tapping the screen, trying to dispel the warning. "Damn pop-ups," he muttered, unable to shut it off. A percussive tap to the side of the instrument didn't stop it either. A solid slap, however, made the beeping noise stop. Satisfied, Peter leaned back in his seat and propped his feet right back up.

Gamora barely spared him a glance as she pointedly shoved his legs out of the way to view the console herself. The readout wasn't good. "All fuel cells are running dry. Last one's almost 88% depleted."

"Is that bad?" he asked non-chalantly, knowing full well what it meant.

She spelled it out for him anyway. "It means the Milano is about to run out of power. We need to remedy this. Immediately."

"So we're almost out of gas, relax... the Milano can run on fumes for... what, almost a week?"

"We're already on fumes, Quill. Another day and we'll be dead in the nebula," Gamora replied.

By now most of the rest of the Guardians were showing interest in their discussion as well. Considering the ship doubled as their home, it made sense they cared about its upkeep and maintenance. Plus, it wasn't very big, and sound carried. _No use putting this off any longer then_, Peter realized. _Oh well, at least they didn't have a busy schedule at the moment_.

"Well, guess it's time to fuel up. Rocket?"

"On it," replied the cybernetically enhanced little beast, hopping into his seats and easing forward on the accelerator, steering the starship around in a wide arc.

"We're low on supplies too," Drax remarked, tapping the console beside him. Their storage was getting dismally empty. "I guess the Nova Corps didn't help us out as much as they thought."

"More likely Rocket's already chewn through everything we got," Peter muttered.

"Hey, I can't help it I've got an advanced metabolism! I burn calories fast!"

Peter sighed, slumping into his seat. Fuel alone was going to cost a bundle, but repairs and supplies might be even worse. They could afford it, but it still hurt how his wallet was almost always empty.

"Man, I could use a drink."

Rocket twisted in his seat, showing his fangs in a wicked grin. "I know just the place."

* * *

After travelling to the planet of Knowhere and finding it to be the floating head of an ancient alien race, the way station of Purple Lotus in the Warlock Sector was pleasantly normal. Well, relatively speaking.

Shaped like the flower it was named after and made of a dark metal that shimmered violet in the light of the nearby binary system, it had five primary docking ports for larger cruisers. A number of smaller hubs flowed elegantly from the five main 'petals' to accommodate smaller ships like the Milano. All of which led centrally, to the main building which functioned as both bar and refueling station. It wasn't the sort of place people stayed long, but made for an excellent place to stop, unwind, refuel, and relax before moving on.

All this and more, according to Rocket. Apparently the entertainment was also top notch.

Peter didn't know about that, given his teammates penchant for explosions and violence, but whatever else the Purple Lotus was, he quite liked the sight of it. It reminded him a lot of Earth for some reason. Or at least better times. Flowers. One rarely went wrong with flowers. Gun-toting mercenaries rarely associated with flowers. Galaxy-conquering madmen didn't appreciate flowers. Flowers were for beautiful women and peaceful times. Flowers were good.

He had slipped his Walkman around his neck for easy-carrying and was shrugging on his coat when the Milano shook and there came an awful, horrible screeching noise from somewhere near the stern.

"Hey, watch the paintjob!"

Rocket snarled at him. "I know what I'm doing, lay off! That sonovabitch cut me off!"

"Cut off his head!" Drax retorted, probably misunderstanding what, exactly, had been 'cut off' in the exchange.

The diminutive Rocket snarled and cursed up a storm at the unknown ship that had violated their airspace. Wrestling with the desire to pick up his teammate by his scrawny neck and toss him aside, Peter reluctantly let him pilot their ship into dry dock. Fortunately, there was no further trouble parking the Milano, their starship settled into dock easily amidst a much larger Kree Freighter and a sleek, state-of-the-art Stygian Cruiser. Only then did Peter let out a sigh of relief, waiting for the gravity and atmosphere to re-align between the ship and the station before they disembarked.

"Right, let's gas up."

Groot carefully linked up the fuel nozzle to the Milano and started pumping gas into their vehicle. Though largely recovered from his near-death experience on the Dark Aster, he was still regrowing much of his full size and strength, barely standing a head taller than his compatriot Rocket at this point. He almost looked like a small child, and sometimes the other Guardians were convinced he even acted a little more child-like. But whatever the case, they were glad to have him with them still.

Peter, Rocket and Gamora took a chance to stretch. Cramped in the starship wasn't so bad as some places they'd been, but it was still good to get a bit of fresh air every now and then. Pity they were on a space station, where the air was recycled. It still had that faint, musky odor to it. Peter grimaced, tempted to activate his helmet, but decided he might as well get used to it. Besides, he'd had worse.

"Fuel sure is cheap here," Peter remarked after taking a glance at the prices. "What's the catch?"

"Oh you'll see," Rocket replied. "It's inside."

Since the fueling was going to take a few hours, Peter took out a compact device from his jacket and locked the Milano down remotely. Satisfied no one was going to steal her, he and his colleagues ambled down the walkways towards the center of the station, curious as to the entertainment Rocket had mentioned.

Various other passerby both humanoid and alien were doing the same. Overhead was a clear dome that kept the vacuum of space out and the air in, and up ahead was the central building, a square structure that looked like it had seen better days. The nearby twins suns cast dual lights of bright scarlet and dim azure over everything, where the shadows were deepest were a shade of violet that soothed and relaxed the senses. Even so, the outside of the Lotus was lit up with advertisements and flashing neon lights, making it look like a cheap Vegas gas station.

Inside was a totally different story.

Dimly lit, the lighting shown most prominently on the bar and the stages, shrouding the tables and booths in darkness and making it difficult to see the other clientele. However, all interest in them quickly vanished as their eyes adjusted to the light and they saw the entertainment. Flashing neon lights in every shade of the rainbow helped to illuminate. Twisting and writhing in the lights were a number of scantily-clad ladies of various alien races. They danced for the entertainment of the customers, batting eyelashes and waving tentacled appendages in the hopes of earning some currency from a hormonally driven patron.

"Well this is certainly... different," Peter remarked, eyes naturally drawn to one of the dancers, a girl with actual lavendar skin and a pair of tentacles descending from atop her head in lieu of hair. The way she moved her limbs, there was no way her species had bones.

"Heh heh, thought you'd like it," said Rocket, rubbing his paws together. The little raccoon bounded into the establishment, ducking around and even under some of the other patrons, taking full advantage of his species natural height. It put him at the perfect level to ogle some of the waitresses.

At the door, the other four Guardians of the Galaxy exchanged a look, then shrugged and followed their shorter colleague.

Manuvering amongst the other patrons was easy, they were all glued in place to their respective seats. Some were even enjoying a private performance from one of the dancers for a bit of extra cash. The air was thick with the smell of smoke, and an underlying odor Peter couldn't quite place. Picking out a booth in the back with one of the best views, to say nothing of enough seats for all of them, he claimed the one at the far back. Long habit had given Starlord the idea of putting his back to the wall wherever he went, in case of ambush. If trouble burst in through the front, he wanted to be able to see it coming.

"At least its comfortable in here," Gamora said, settling into the seat beside Peter. The plush velvet couches were very supportive and soft to the touch, unlike some of the furniture on the Milano.

"Can't complain about the view either," Rocket said as he bounded into the last seat beside Groot. His partner gave an indifference shrug, evidently unphased by the display.

"You need a booster seat?" Peter teased, noting how Rocket barely looked up over the top of the table.

"Bite me!" snarled Rocket.

"They should put some clothes on," Drax remarked, glancing at a buxom waitress as she came up to take their orders. "They'll catch cold in here."

Peter rolled his eyes and turned his attention to the girl. She wore maybe a little more fabric than the dancers, but it still put all of her best features on display, and she had an abundance of them. Especially her eyes. Bright, ruby, and in triplicate. All three blinked as she smiled enticingly at the Starlord.

"Evenin' travelers. What can I get you all?" she asked, her voice oddly distorted, like it was coming from underwater.

"I think I'll go see what's on tap," Peter said, nodding to the bar. "Don't trouble yourself over me, darlin'"

"Sir?"

Drax thought for a moment, then said, "Takana Ale. Chilled please."

The waitress wrote it down dutifully, turning to Gamora. "Ma'am?"

"Halbarian Tea," she decided after a moment's thought.

She nodded, then looked over... and then down... at Groot. The plant-like alien smiled up at her gently. "Awww, aren't you just the cutest? What can I get you?"

He opened his mouth to speak, but Rocket smoothly intercepted with a translation before it was needed. "The big guy'll have water."

The waitress didn't bat an eye at the talking raccoon now in her field of view. Evidently, she'd seen weirder. "And you sir?"

"Sir, ha! I like that. I'll take a Quasar Sunburst."

"A Quasa-... what?"

"A Quasar Sunburst. You never made one of those before?" he stared up at her incredulously.

She clutched her notepad to her bosom, rubbing her chin as she thought hard. "Uh, no sir, I don't think we've ever gotten a request for something like that before."

"Oh well it's real simple, see, what you do is take a bottle of Celestial wine, three cherries, a dash of rum..."

Peter tuned him out, the drink sounded more complicated than an engine part. At least Groot had kept it simple with the water, not like anyone would've ever carded a sapient, humanoid tree that just happened to wander into their club. To be honest, Peter wasn't quite sure just how old Groot was. When they'd met he easily towered over the Starlord himself, the tallest of their merry band, yet he seemed almost child-like innocent in his interactions with other life-forms even before his reduction to mere twig. When he wasn't on a colossal rampage, that is.

Perhaps one day he'd ask Groot. Then, recalling the language barrier, amended his plan to include Rocket as a translator. Then again, maybe he could just ask Rocket, maybe he knew.

"... shake it up, and boom! Quasar Sunburst! Got that?"

To Peter's surprise, the waitress evidently did. "Be back in a bit, hons," she bubbled, deftly turning on her heel and bouncing away towards the bar. Peter and Rocket tilted their heads to watch her go, entranced by the view.

Gamora rolled her eyes at the typical interests of males, settling back in her seat with her arms crossed. "I hope this doesn't take long," she said. "This place doesn't look exactly friendly."

Peter was inclined to agree. Now that their eyes had adjusted to the view, it was easier to make out some of the other customers. Mostly humanoids, quite a from the local star systems. Some of whom looked reasonable enough, travellers, merchants, tourists. But some looked a lot more rough and tumble. Mercenaries and criminals. They came in a variety of species, a few Xandarians, a Kree Officer off-duty, two Sakaraans and a Xandaran near the bar, chatting up a waitress. There was a table of yellow-skinned men with vague, rounded features huddled around their drinks. Peter took a moment but finally identified them as Korbinites, an outcast race who'd lost their homeworld a while back.

_Poor guys_, he thought. _I'd buy them a round, if we weren't still up to our ears in debt_.

At least the view was free, Peter mused as he watched the dancing girls twist and bend amidst flashing incandescent lights.

* * *

A short while later, Peter Jason Quill decided he'd had enough time to store up pretty pictures behind his eyelids. Which meant it was time for that drink.

Slipping out of the booth he shared with his fellow teammates, the legendary outlaw made his way up to the bar, neatly weaving in and out of the other clientele. Although a space station and subject to intergalactic standard time, the Purple Lotus really seemed to be jumping as the hour grew later, despite it being just as light outside. Red and blue light flit in through the windows, which only serve to enhance the atmosphere of lustful thoughts and decadent fantasy the club offered.

Finally reaching the bar, Peter beheld the barman. A man his own height and mostly human in appearance, with sunken reddish eyes and deeply tanned skin, a little too orange to be fully human. He wore a crimson tunic with golden highlights, and kept a short scimitar at his side. A big feudal but Peter figured he was hardly one to judge. He enjoyed the classics too, after all.

"Got anything from the uh... Sol System?" Peter asked, trying to appear non-chalant as he leaned against the bar.

"Sol?"

"Uh... Earth? Terra?"

"Terra? Oh yes... Midgard... I think I do, hold on..."

As he rummaged under the bar, Peter glanced over at a pretty dancing girl shimmying against a pole nearby. She caught his gaze and winked at him, he returned the gesture with a friendly smile.

"Never did quite figure out why a planet needed so many different names," the bartender said as he returned. "But here we go... this was just picked up a while back."

The bartender plunked a drink down in front of him, a familiar aluminum cannister with red and white swirls. Even Peter recognized it, its design hadn't changed since the 80s, though it did seem a bit more streamlined.

"Soda?"

"Yeah, the latest from Earth. I hear its all the rage on the Shi'ar Frontier."

Not quite what he'd been looking for but, really, it might be better to keep his wits about him. A place like the Purple Lotus could easily rob travelers blind if it got them too intoxicated, and Rocket definitely wasn't going to be their designated driver for much longer.

"I'll take round for the booth in the corner," Peter said, indicating his friends.

* * *

The remainder of their drinks had arrived by the time Peter paid for the sodas and got back to their table, sliding in between Drax and Gamora. The green-skinned assassin was nursing her tea, more to find something to do than anything else. Rocket, by contrast, had already chugged his first Quasar Sunburst and was getting a second, giving the waitress a slap on her cute little backside that made her giggle and wag a finger at him warningly.

Groot had a bowl of water in front of him, but wasn't drinking from it. At least, not in the traditional sense. His left hand rested in the clear liquid like he was getting a manicure. Knowing the colossal thug they way he did, Peter suspected he was using his fingers as roots. Or something similar. Whatever.

Drax idly munched on some red peanuts they were serving free. Curious, Peter snatched one out of his bowl, lifting it up to his nose and gave a tentative sniff.

_Hmmm, smells like burning_, he thought, tossing the peanut over his shoulder and to the floor as he rubbed his nose and tried to recover his sense of smell. _Note to self: avoid the nuts_.

He carefully set the soda cans out in front of his teammates, something green and silver for Gamora, Drax received a can with a green, red, and white motif, while Rocket was gifted with a blue, red and white can containing the Starlord's least favorite flavor.

"Gentlemen... and lady, of course..." he added, dipping his head to Gamora gallantly.

"I am Groot," stated the stunted alien oak.

"Yes, yes, of course, and Groot too," he said, figuring it was somewhat reasonable. Despite referring to Groot on more than one occasion as a man, it wasn't always an ideal comparison. He briefly paused as he forgot where he was going with this conversation, then remembered. "I propose a toast."

"Toast? What do we need toast for?" asked Drax, puzzled.

"Yeah! This is a bar, not a bed and breakfast," Rocket quickly agreed.

Peter shook his head. "It's just what it's called," he explained. "It's a way of... uh... reminding us of what we consider important. I don't know why it's called that it just is."

"Oh."

"So what're we toasting to?" Gamora asked.

"To those we've lost..." Peter intoned solemnly. "Our siblings. Our friends. Our families. And especially those who died to save the Galaxy."

Their cans clanked together, and they took a sip as one.

* * *

**Authors Notes:  
**Naturally, full of shout outs to some of the other Guardians, including Adam Warlock and Quasar.

The cover art is by the very talented Ganassa, on Deviantart. Check them out, they're very good.

Naturally, that was a twi'lek Peter was ogling at one point. Just a friendly Star Wars cameo, I know they're separate universes, no need to point that out to me.

For Sodas, naturally Starlord gets a coca cola, Gamora enjoys a sprite, Drax a mountain dew, and Racoon gets a pepsi. Product placement at its finest.


	2. Babes

Reactions to the sodas were... mixed, to say the least.

Groot grimaced at the flavor, his trunk-like face scrunched up distastefully. Drax coughed as the liquid went down the wrong tube, pounding at his muscular chest to clear is airways. Of them all, it seemed like Gamora had the most subdued reaction, though even she seemed puzzled by the taste. Rocket took the cake, however, spewing the contents of his can all over the table in front of him.

"Yee-uk! You Terrans actually drink this swill?!" Comically, the cybernetic raccoon was scraping at his tongue in a vain attempt to wipe the taste off it.

"Hey!" Peter sat up, greatly offended. "Where I come from this is a delicacy!"

"I knew you came from a back-end planet, but this is ridiculous!" Rocket proclaimed, slamming his tiny fists down on the table. "Yaldarian Yak piss tastes better than this!"

"I suppose you'd know!"

"Bite me, Starlord!"

"Those're fighting words, rodent!" the taller Terran said, jumping to his feet.

Rocket was seconds behind him, actually climbing up on the table so they were almost at the same height. "I keep telling you-!"

Gamora swiftly intercepted the two hotheads before they could come to blows, pressing a hand to each of their chests. "Boys, boys! We came here to relax, remember? Let off a little steam?"

Grumbling, the two men sat back down, nodding in agreement. Now was not the time to get into a fight. Muttering to himself about Terra poison, the diminutive racoon wandered off to take in the local sights.

"I do not like this drink," Drax said calmly, setting the half-empty can aside. "You may have it back."

_Gross_, thought Peter, looking at the returned can, still opened, fresh from the mouth of the Destroyer. _Evidently his species is big on sharing as well as lacking metaphors. Good to know_.

The Purple Lotus was positively packed by now, more and more customers came in every few minutes. Peter spotted Xandarans, Acanti, Badoon, Centaurians, Kymellians, even a Debarii. Numerous more he couldn't identify. All of them drawn by the allure of the interplay of shadow, light, and flesh. For despite it being a very big galaxy indeed (and a far wider universe outside of that) it seemed most sentient species shared more than a few things in common.

One was a humanoid form, ideally suited for survival. Another of them being an appreciation for the natural beauty of the female form.

Even if some species females were naturally... different.

Thankully it seemed the Purple Lotus didn't employ many Lascavarians. Teeth like needles and tentacled appendages tended to only appeal to a very few species and usually then, only their truly perverted. But he did spot a Skrull girl over in the corner. In her natural form, no less. He heard some slave-traders in the darker parts of the galaxy used Skrulls as pleasure slaves because they could shapeshift into whatever their client wanted, but when you looked at them in the real light, those reptilian faces just make Rocket's fur crawl.

Finally, however, he caught a glimpse of something worth pursuing and stepped across the club to get a better view. Taller species and high velvet couches blocked his way, forcing him to manuver around and over funiture to make any progress, since nobody was paying him any attention. However, when he finally got to the other side, his beady little eyes widened and a delighted grin stretched across his furry face.

Rocket didn't recognize her species, she had a sort of lime-tinted skin that seemed similar to Gamora's. Perhaps they came from the same star system. And an abundance of the shade was on display, for this woman wore only the minimum amount to be considered still decent, a banana yellow color that complimented her skin tone well. Her legs seemed almost impossibly long, ending in delicate toes, and her rounded hips were bountiful without being unseemly big. Upon noticing the small racoon watching her, she gave a beautiful smile, revealing perfect teeth, and crooked a finger to beckon him closer.

"Oh, it's truly the simple things in life you live for," Rocket said as he rubbed his hands together and ambled his way down the aisle towards his chosen prey.

* * *

Living for the simple things was what Drax was doing at this particular moment as well. Namely, excusing himself to go relieve his bladder.

Drax preferred to keep things simple.

When he'd been living with his wife and child, things had been simple. Provide for them, cherish the time they shared together.

When they'd been taken from him, things stayed simple. Track down Ronan to kill him, and destroy everything of his along the way.

Now, things were... less simple.

His desire for justice remained so. Once they found Thanos, the evil overlord would die by the Destroyer's hand, or he would fall by the Mad Titan's. Either his family would be avenged, or he would be re-united with them early in the afterlife. The trouble was finding Thanos, his contact with others was far and few between, and usually through intermediaries. Peter and Gamora, as well as Rocket and Groot, had cautioned him to hold off on his revenge and wait for a better time.

As the Starlord had said, revenge was a dish best served cold.

Which, at first, had made no sense to Drax. Revenge was not food, to be eaten, and why would it being cold or hot matter? Metaphors were still something new to him, but he was picking them up fairly quickly. In short, it meant to wait, and the death of Thanos, avenging his family, would feel all the more rewarding. They were wrong, of course. The sooner Thanos was dead the better. Not for his vengeance... for the people of the galaxy.

Stepping out of the station's facilities and drying off his hands, Drax walked back through the night club to rejoin his team. On the way, however, something caught his eye.

Pausing, Drax stepped back for a clearer view out the window. Bathed in the light of the binary star system, an asteroid moon drifted past the view of the Purple Lotus. A long, somewhat oblong shape with various crates and irregular rises. The orangish hue meant it likely had a high percentage of copper making up its structure. But that wasn't what interested him. What had caught his eye was the shape seemingly etched into the side of the moon, almost like a mural.

A long, snaking, serpentine dragon.

A moon dragon.

For some reason it reminded Drax of his daughter, Kamaria. Probably because she'd enjoyed creatures of mythology like dragons, angels, and treants.

The Destroyer's expression softened as he stepped up to the window, resting an arm against the frame and leaning against it, watching the celestial body drift past. He missed her so much. And his wife, Hovat. Sometimes the pain was unbearable. But right now, he thought back to happier times. He remembered the good, the times before he'd ever heard of a man called Ronan the Accuser.

Starlord and the others were always cautioning him to not let revenge consume him, citing numerous examples of people they'd known or heard of who had fallen. Drax normally ignored them, those people were not him, their circumstances were different. He _would_ succeed. But right now, he felt more relaxed. Revenge, while not forgotten, could wait.

Maybe there _was_ time for things in life besides just vengeance. He could take time to appreciate some of the beauty in the universe.

Like how beautiful it was going to look when he had crushed Thano's head under his boot...

* * *

A while passed, and Peter idly checked his watch, seeing it had nearly been an hour since they'd first come in. A little while longer and they'd be ready to take off. Idly he lifted his head and cast out his gaze to find the rest of his teammates. Gamora was still sitting with him, of course.

Rocket was on the other side of the room, settled comfortably into the lap of a bountiful woman with lime-tinted skin and a very rich plumage of feathers around her neck and shoulders. Whether they were really hers or some elaborate costume, Peter couldn't tell. Rocket evidently seemed to like them though. It was rare to see the fiesty little ball of fur look quite so unabashedly happy and joyful.

Drax hadn't yet returned from taking care of his personal business, and Groot was... over in the corner, apparently chatting with a palm tree of all things.

_I have some really weird friends_, Peter realized with a shake of his head.

The lights abruptly went out, save for a few dim ones marking the exits, and for a moment it was difficult to see amongst the shadows and dim luminescence. Peter tensed, sending Gamora doing the same beside him. But then the lights started to come back on, and they both relaxed. Not a power outage, just part of the show evidently.

For starting on the center stage the glow of light began to flicker back on, drawing all eyes there immediately. And to the lone dancer standing there. An announcers voice came from the speakers, the same place where the music did.

"Ladies, Gentlemen, and all Sentient Life Forms of a Non-Specific Gender... please put your appendanges together for our main attraction! That lovely shining star of the Purple Lotus! The one, the only, Galaxia!"

She would have come up to the Starlord's chin, being just shy of five and a half feet tall, but she made every gorgeous inch count. Head bowed in the center of the stage, wearing tasteful strips of silvery cloth that covered anything truly indecent, but only by a thin margin, she waited for some unseen cue. She looked almost human, but her skin was an unnaturally pale shade of white, and her eyes were puppilless cobalt. Her waist was so thin she looked like she would snap in a good strong breeze. Platinum tresses descended down to the small of her back, just above the curve of her rear. They looked slightly metallic, though whether that was ornamentation or what her species was naturally like wasn't clear. Despite all this, she was still lovely. Eeriely so.

Music began to play. A lilting melody, which sounded almost harp-like. Not a genre Peter recognized, but certainly something he could appreciated. It was unnaturally beautiful, fitting perfectly the otherwordly dancing girl.

Galaxia started to move. It was like watching a supernova, or a whirlpool nebula. Something so grand and beautiful you couldn't full put it into words. Compared to the pale angel on the stage, most of the other girls were just gyrating to the beat of the music. Some weren't even doing that right, but nobody really minded.

But _this_ lady (and she was no _girl_, this was definitely a _lady_) knew how to work with what she had, shapley limbs flowing in a graceful little dance, petite figure, bouncing and jiggling in all the right places. Her silvery garments clung to her more tightly than a second skin, and Peter felt nothing but profound sympathy, because his pants were starting to feel tighter by the second.

Galaxia pivoted on her dainty heel, leaping with the grace of a swan around the pole on center stage. A pale hand grasped it as she artfully swung out a perfectly shaped leg to catch the smooth metal, spinning around it. An artful twist of her shoulders turned her back to the pole and she leaned against it for support as one leg came up, caught by her arm. Her dainty foot was raised well above her head, demonstrating an excellent level of balance, control, and flexibility. Her delicate toes wiggled as she waved to her drooling audience.

Realizing he'd been amonst those staring almost completely slack-jawed, Peter picked up his drink and took a long chug of his soda, trying to appear cool and non-challant. And failing both when the liquid went down the wrong tube and he had to lightly pound at his chest, coughing to clear his throat.

He was a legendary outlaw, not some terran schoolboy that he gaped at anything pretty with two 'X' chromosomes. He set his drink down lightly, breathing out slowly to reclaim his composure, even as he settled back in the booth to enjoy the show. Gamora caught his eye, and he turned his head to catch her gaze, seeing her frowning slightly.

"Enjoying the show?" the green-skinned assassin asked lightly.

"She's got some moves," Peter admitted, shifting his seat and resting his ankle on his knee. "I'd say you're better though."

"I suppose you'd enjoy it if I was the one up there on the stage?" she asked, her tone seemingly indifferent, but her gaze cool.

For a moment, Peter actually let his imagination run wild with that thought. Gamora in something black and skimpy up on the stage, the dim lighting reflecting off of her enticing emerald curves, her sensual body twisting and writhing around the metal pole as easily as she danced amidst blades and gunfire. The fantasy was utterly enticing, but the Starlord was no fool, and he recognized a trap when he saw one. Better to be truthful.

"To be honest," he said. "I did think about it, but really? Probably not."

She blinked in confusion, tilting her head, wondering how to deal with his response. It was certainly unexpected. "No?"

"Oh I would. But if you were up that, I'd have to share the view with everyone here. And really... I think I'd rather keep you all to myself," he said with a charming smile.

It was easily the cheesiest line he'd ever uttered to a woman. But it still brought a smirk to the former assassin's lips, lighting up her face in a way he found utterly enticing.

She may not have been pretty the way the alien dancing girl was, though there was no denying Gamora's physical beauty. But what truly drew Peter to her was that inner fire of hers. She had a spirit that refused to be dominated, a will that refused to be broken, controlled, or ruled.

"You're impossible, Peter Quill," Gamora said with a wry grin.

He barked out a laugh at that. He'd been called worse, after all. By lots of women all across the Galaxy. From Berett just recently, a pair of Rigellian twins a month ago, then there was that incident with the Gramosian Duchess. Oh man, that still brought a smile to his face... and made his back twinge in remembered ache. Yeah, it was a safe bet to say the Starlord was something of a connosieur of the fairer sex. Gamora, however was different.

_She's was whole _leagues_ different_, he thought to himself. _Worth a little patience and a lot of proper effort_.

Because he definitely wanted her, but even more so, definitely didn't want to screw this up. And not just because she could kill him with her pinkie either. Because underneath that fire and fierceness, Gamora was still so noble, and so very fragile. With a heart like glass, beautiful and delicate.

He had no desire to break it.

Stealing it, on the other hand, well... he was still an outlaw, after all.

He gently took her hand in his. Gamora stiffened, but soon relaxed, brushing her thumb against the back of his hand, admiring the fine layer of hair found there. He returned the gesture, admiring just how smooth her skin was. In her line of work, it should have been hard, tough with callouses, dry and cracked from rough work holding weapons day and night. Yet she obviously took what little time she had to herself to maintain herself, her green skin felt smoother than silk.

The last Zehoberi gazed deeply into the eyes of the Terran/Unknown hybrid, unconsciously shifting closer as a new song began playing. Neither of them even were aware much of the surrounding environment, the dancers, their teammates, the flashing strobe lights, even the scent of ginger and alcohol in the air. It all faded as they leaned in slowly towards each other. Their lips met, baby pink against viridian green, as Peter and Gamora lost themselves amidst a tempest of passionate feelings of far greater potency than any beverage here or anywhere in the Galaxy.

* * *

**Authors Notes:  
**Given the well-received nature of the story, I decided to keep going. Hope you all enjoy this second installment as much as the first. A third is yet on it's way.

Another shout out to a Guardian of the Galaxy from the comics. This time it's Moondragon, whom I hold great hopes of seeing in the film sequel.

Galaxia, however, is an Original Character not based on anyone from the comics in particular.


	3. Brawl

Their perfect moment was ruined by a screech that cut through the air like an laser-edged sword. Both Peter and Gamora, well accustomed to danger from their respective professions, yanked apart, looking for the source. The slap that followed seemed to positively echo in the abrupt silence of the club. Subject 89P13, better known as Rocket, went sprawling on the ground.

The feathered maiden he'd been enjoying the company of huffed indignantly. "I am NOT that kind of girl!"

"Hey, whoa, I'm sorry baby, I didn't realize that was sensitive!" Rocket held up his small paws defensively, trying to defuse the situation.

"Just keep away from me, you filthy little guinea pig!" she screeched.

Peter winced. _Oh man_, he thought. _If there were two berserk buttons hard-wired into Rocket, it was being called an animal, and being called a lab experiment. And this crazy broad just mashed both of those buttons HARD_.

In an instant, Rocket went from placating to pissed off. Under most other circumstances, he might've been able to just shrug it off and ignore the insult. But right now he had more than a little liquor running through his blood and was feeling cantankeous. He snarled up at the dancing girl with a furry fury.

"What did you call me?! Listen, lady-!"

"Hey, are you hitting on my girl?!" a new voice broke through the clamor, loud and booming.

Another man stepped forward, joining in the confrontation as the dancer shied away from the angry Rocket. It was a Xandaran, with short black hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but a gaunt and feral look to his face and figure. The way he stumbled, it was clear he was badly intoxicated. Whether or not he was truly the dancer's official paramour or just an overly possessive patron, he'd marked Rocket for death for violating her personal space. He reached down and grasped the cybernetic racoon by the scruff of his neck, hauling him up to glare at him right in the eye. Rocket snarled right back at him.

Before he could inflict more serious harm upon the animal that had touched his girl, the Xandaran was caught completely off-guard as something big and heavy slammed into his back. Later, he'd swear it was like being hit by a runaway star freighter.

But it was something much, much more destructive than that.

Drax the Destroyer locked his arms around the taller man's midsection, bearing them both to the ground, knocking over a small table in the process. Zanadar Whiskey and Hot Fish Juice sprayed everywhere as glass containers shattered on the ground. Neither combatant noticed, too caught up in their personal brawl. Ignoring blows raining down on his head and shoulders, Drax grasped the Xandaran around his chest. He then planted his feet and hauled the struggling man up into the air, forcing him to drop Rocket, who scrambled out of the way. Bending at the waist, Drax slammed the man headfirst onto the ground beside him. Quickly letting go, Drax then slapped his elbow and leapt up into the air, bringing his arm crashing down on the alien's back in a move that could've broken him in half, if the Destroyer was seriously trying to kill him. As it was, he gave a howl of agony, but didn't seem to be seriously injured.

"No one hurts this little ball of fur," Drax said, still laying half-on, half-off his opponent. "He is my friend." He thudded his elbow down hard against the back of the Xandaran's skull, rendering him unconscious.

"Alright, that's enough of that!"

"Someone stop him!"

"Get the brute out of my bar!"

Two bouncers stepped in. Big, feral looking fellows with stripy fur and the faces of snarling tigers. They converged on Drax and Rocket as the two of them climbed to their feet, both looking pissed off and ready for round two.

_Well, this sure went to Hell fast_, Peter thought, picking up his soda and downing it in one long gulp. If things progressed how he thought they would, it wouldn't be long before they'd have to bail on paying their tab. _Wouldn't be the first time_. Peter and Gamora shared a look and nodded, quickly joining the fray as it spread through the Purple Lotus like wildfire. They'd left his Quad blasters and her Godslayer on the Milano, but that wouldn't stop them from doing things the old-fashioned way.

Drax picked up one of the bouncers and threw him over his head into the Korbonite's table, knocking it over and sending the yellow-skinned aliens to scattering. Wisely, they made their way for the exits instead of joining in the fight. Scantily-clad girls also went scrambling for the exits as Rocket bounded up one customer's knees, bouncing off his buddie's chest, and onto the original fighter's face, sinking his teeth hard into the man's ear. An undignified screech escaped him as he tried to pry off the vicious thug clinging to his ear.

One of his buddies, a big dark-skinned man with a bald head and cybernetic sunglasses, moved in to attack Drax, throwing his arms around the bigger man's shoulders to keep his arms pinned. Seeing an opening, Peter reached over to a nearby table to snatch up a bottle of Firewine... pausing only briefly to check the stardate on the side.

"Huh, good year..." he remarked, before resuming his swing and smashing the bottle over the head of the dark-skinned man. He cursed up a storm but did not fall. However, his grip was loosened enough for Drax to reach around, grab him by the front of his shirt, and toss him over the Destroyer's shoulder and clear across the room.

"My thanks, Starlord," the Destroyed said, reaching down to his side for his knife. Peter quickly moved to clasp a hand over the gray man's, preventing him from drawing.

"Whoa! Whoa, Drax! No weapons!"

"Where is the fun in that?" Drax asked, genuinely puzzled. He almost casually backhanded another man coming from behind, not even bothering to look.

"Because the bartender is packing major heat," Peter explained, pausing only briefly to say, "Behind you."

Drax turned and leapt, dropkicking his feet into the oncoming bouncers chest to knock him flat on the ground. "He has found a way to... package... what?" Drax asked.

"He's got a really big gun," Peter continued, remembering that their Destroyer friend still was working on his understanding of metaphors, and didn't quite grasp what 'packing heat' meant. They'd work on that. "I saw it earlier when he was getting our drinks. Betting he's willing to use it to. Let's not give him a reason to point it on us, okay? Fists only."

The Destroyed gave a most unsettling grin. "That can be fun too."

A fresh wave of combatants rolled their way, either professional bouncers trying to restore order, or else intoxicated patrons pissed off their fun with the dancing girls had been interrupted. In either case, they wanted a fight, and more than a few were between the Guardians and the door.

A hulking monstrosity with crimson scales came barrelling down the way, smashing into Drax, but the tattooed ex-convict held his ground and grappled with the great beast, forcing them into a standstill. Peter grabbed at an unnaturally large arm, but the reptilian alien was freakishly strong, throwing him off as if he was little more than a gnat. The red-haired outlaw tripped over an overturned table and stumbled backwards, landing face-first in something soft and pillowy. He'd fallen right into the ample bosom of a Krylorian girl, easily identified by her bubblegum pink skin. Peter lifted his head and blinked, glancing up at the girl, who wore an expression of utter confusion.

"Uh, hey, thanks for the airbags beautiful."

Confusion that quickly turned to indignation.

**Slap.**

The infamous Starlord went sprawling on the ground from the force of the blow, positive his cheek was redder than his hair by now. _Whew, she sure packs a wallop_, he thought. _If I wasn't in the middle of a bar fight (and an increasingly serious relationship) I'd ask for her number_.

Sitting back up, he shook off the pain, glancing about to see where he was needed. Drax and Rocket were holding their own, but Gamora sprinted past him and deftly flipped up onto the stage, kicking one of her pursuers in the teeth as he tried to follow after her. Three more circled around in front, cutting off her escape. Gamora stepped back for some space, and bumped her back against the pole still in center stage.

"Okay boys, you wanted a dance?" asked the Deadliest Woman in the Galaxy. "You got one."

The brawlers charged her, one after the other. Gamora reached up to grab the pole, and with a natural grace twisted along it, lashing out with a foot to collide with the first brute's head, catching him under the jaw and sending him reeling. A pivot on her heel and a deft twist along the metal pole and she was coming around the other side to mash her elbow into the next attacker's face, cracking his nose and making blood gush everywhere. He stumbled off the stage, and Peter grabbed him up in a headlock to prevent him from returning to the fray, while Gamora continued to artfully bob and weave, ducking under clumsy thrown punches and hopping over crude kicks with a greater grace than Galaxia herself. Two more attackers went down, one having ran right into the pole when she'd spun behind it, another cracked upside the head by a roundhouse kick. She finished off the last one by throwing up her legs and wrapping them around the pole, then turning and, upside down, lashing out with her fist. Her new position gave her the perfect height to punch the poor fool right in his family jewels. He clutched them and gave a high-pitched whine as he collapsed onto his knees.

Peter blinked in astonishment, unable to bring himself to help Gamora out. He could only stare with his mouth open as the beautiful assassin danced her way to victory by laying out anyone who dared come within range of her gorgeous but deadly body.

"Wow," he breathed out, momentarily stunned. So was the Kree officer he had in a headlock.

They both watched in frozen awe for a few moments longer as Gamora laid out her last opponent, then Peter followed suit and slammed the officer's head into a nearby table, rendering him unconscious. He then offered his hand up to the green-skinned goddess on stage, escorting her down and back into the fray.

By now the fight was starting to get serious. Anyone just in it for kicks had either been knocked unconscious or fled the bar when things got too rough. But the bouncers were getting paid to deal with their bruises and keep fighting, and were still working to subdue Drax and Rocket. The rest of the Guardians of the Galaxy had been put on their list simply by association. Gamora and Peter went back-to-back, throwing punches and kicks to keep a clear space around each other, covering their respective blind spots while Rocket stayed close by their legs.

"Yo big guy! A little help!" the former thug yelled over to their heavy hitter. Much as he hated to admit it, without their weapons they were in a pretty tight jam.

But Drax was in no position to aid them either. Finally forging the age old courtesy of 'one at a time' the brawlers had rushed him en masse, two grabbing his arms while a third and fourth grabbed his shoulders, bearing him to the ground and wailing on his tough skin any chance they could get. Though the way he was laughing, he was clearly enjoying himself immensely.

"Hmmm, this is starting to look bad," Peter remarked, throwing a jab at a guy trying to attack from Gamora's blind spot, smashing in his face and sending him crashing to the ground.

"Starting to?" she asked mildly, implying it was far worse than that. She dropkicked another bouncer trying to grab their teammate, nailing him in the solar plexus with the hard sole of her boot.

"Don't worry kids," Rocket said. "In three little words, this entire fight is going to turn in our favor."

"I've a plan?" Peter guessed. Rocket shook his head. Technically that was four words anyway, even if two were contracted.

"Nova Corps inbound?" Gamora surmised. Again, Rocket shook his head.

Fighters continued to dogpile on Drax, keeping the Destroyer well and truly pinned, while a few of them were now advancing on Peter, Gamora, and Rocket, glaring with hostile intent. Maybe not quite murderous, but certainly painful intentions. However, they paused as one, staring over the shoulders of the Guardians as something else caught their eye. Then their gaze tilted up as that something else _grew_.

The final member of the Guardians, finally nourished after soaking up some much needed H20, had regained enough raw reserves to increase his height back to his original staggering seven feet, and perhaps even a bit more. His head quite literally brushed against the ceiling of the establishment. Sharp twigs like spikes erupted from his shoulders and arms like battle armor. The great tree alien rumbled deep in his chest, then roared, an echoing sound that made everyone pause and peer up at the terrifying wooden behemoth that towered above them all.

"I... Am... **_GROOOOT_**!"

The colossal flora alien grabbed up a pair of brawlers, smashing them together and hurling them aside as if he was tossing aside ragdolls. The fighting resumed as more than a few drunker patrons tried their luck against the massive plant monster barreling down amongst them, tossing full-grown men and women aside like they were matchsticks. Rocket clambered over to his partner-in-crime and leapt up onto his back to ride on his shoulder, safely out of the fray.

"Yeah, that's right, bitches! We're the frickin' Guardians of the Galaxy! Respect!" he shouted, fist pumping the air, then pounding his chest for emphasis. Peter could only watch as the colossal flora grabbed up one of the tiger-like bouncers in both hands, hurled him to the floor, then stomped down on them to keep them pinned beneath his trunk-like foot. A second one he decked out with a firm smack to the face, sending them flying through the air to crash into the bar. For a tree he packed one hell of a right hook.

Their intervention allowed Drax to kick off one of his attackers, then throw himself bodily backwards, hurling another two off of himself. Peter and Gamora quickly moved to help their fellow humanoid finish off a few stragglers, letting go those who didn't want to keep fighting, but laying out those who did. Groot had scared off all but the most reckless of opponents, and those he quickly smashed into so much organic paste on the walls and floors of the club. Finally, exhausted from his exertions, Groot's excessive growth receded into himself or fell to the ground in a pile of matchsticks, leaving him his usual size and composition.

"I... am... Grooooot," he said wearily.

Peter patted his shoulder, getting the jist of his meaning. "It's okay, take five big guy. You did good."

At this, a childlike smile lit up the bark face.

Unfortunately, the tender moment was interrupted by a crash from off to the left. Several of the brawlers had staggered back to their feet and were ready for round three. The bouncers had finally started to get serious as well, using null batons to stun patrons who were still struggling, shocking them into submission. Worse of all was the sight of the flashing lights and sirens that indicated the local law enforcement was probably on their way as well.

"Time to go?" Gamora asked, as casually as she might ask about the weather on Xandar.

"Ayup," Starlord agreed, equally calm.

* * *

The Guardians of the Galaxy came bursting out of the night club and back onto the station ring of the Purple Lotus, pumping their legs and arms as they sprinted ahead of the angry bouncers, bruisers, and babes still hot on their tail. Dignity had been all but left behind, particularly by their fearless leader the Starlord, as Peter scrambled along as fast as he could short of using his rocket boots.

Groot, not nearly as fleet of foot as his companions, grabbed a nearby stack of crates and fuel barrels as they sprinted past, and pulled it down, making for a makeshift barrier to slow down pursuit. They'd just passed the halfway mark on the Lotus petal, and the Milano was in sight, when Rocket came to an abrupt stop.

"Wait wait wait!"

"What? What is it?" asked Starlord, skidding to a halt.

"Hold on a sec, I'll be right back!" replied Rocket, bounding over to a nearby ship. Some fancy Spartax luxury cruiser. Compared to the Milano, and indeed almost anything else docked, it was less a ship and more a piece of interstellar artwork, all gleaming silver lines and smooth ivory sides.

"Drax, hand me a knife if you'd be so kind?"

The big bruiser handed Rocket his knife, which was so big in the raccoon's hands looked more like a short sword. As they watched, he began to etch into the side of the ship, not even bothering with any sort of symbols, just digging the edge in and really dragging. It wouldn't break the hull but it would ruin their shiny paint job.

Peter watched in outright confusion. "What are you doing, Rocket? Are you... do you... do we need a piece of equipment or something? Are we stealing an engine part?"

"Noooot exactly," Rocket replied, giving an especially vicious tug of the knifes handle, gouging the nose of the starship. Like he was...

Realization hit the Starlord like a ton of bricks and he felt a headache coming on.

"Oh, _please_ don't tell me it's the jerk who cut you off?"

"Darn straight it is," Rocket replied with a feral grin, dragging the knife through the sleek hull. "That'll teach you not to respect the rules of the space lane!"

Peter rolled his eyes. _Unbelievable. They had just brawled in an interstellar strip club and now they were keying someone's starcar. They really needed to consider a new name. Defilers of the Galaxy maybe. Or just plain Troublemakers of the Galaxy_.

His vandalism completed, Rocket bounded down the ship and to their side, tossing Drax back his weapon. The rest of them made their way to the Milano, climbing inside. Groot yanked the fuel line out and tossed it onto the deck still leaking as the doors started to slide shut. The colossal tree narrowly fit inside before they did and re-pressurization occurred.

Peter quickly slid into the cockpit and was about to take the helm, but Rocket had beaten him to it, and was already powering up the Milano. Sensing he'd lose any arguement to get his seat back, Peter strapped into the one behind it, making sure his straps were nice and tight. "Ladies and gentlemen, please keep your tray tables and seats in their upright and locked positions, this might be a bit of a bumpy ride..."

"Tray Tables? What's he talking about?" asked Drax, as he sat down across from him and strapped in.

"Probably some stupid Terra metaphor," Rocket accurately guessed.

The Milano hummed and rattled as its engines powered up. A warning siren also went off, and the screens lit up with a familiar golden starburst logo.

"Nova Corps inbound!" Gamora reported, also strapping in.

_Great, the law_, Peter thought. _And just when we were starting to get on their good side. Oh well, spilled soda_. "Let's get the Hell out of here," he said. "Rocket, punch it!"

"You got it!"

The Raccoon rapscallion pushed hard on the accelerator, ducking the starship under a passing cruiser seconds before they collided and wheeling their way out of the docks and onto brighter horizons.

* * *

Thankfully they had no run-in with the Nova Corp or any other unwanted attention, and soon were out amongst the open stars again, allowing them to set their starship to cruise and relax as they headed to their next destination.

Rocket took the opportunity to switch to auto-pilot, hop into his bunk, and promptly pass out. Peter gently lifted up a wool blanket over the sleeping cybernetic racoon, tucking him in. They could relax now, at least until something else came up. Idly he glanced at the other Guardians. Gamora was sharpening her sword, Groot was reading a piece of literature on a holopad, and Drax just stared out at the starry skies beyond the viewport.

And Peter Jason Quill, aka the Starlord, feared intergalactic rogue? He just slid on his headphones and turned on the Earth tunes from the 70s and 80s, propping his feet up on the dashboard. As he immersed himself in the groovy tunes of his childhood, the Milano rocketed off into the starry horizon, heading for another part of the beautiful galaxy. A galaxy filled with beauty, fraught with danger, shrouded in mystery.

A galaxy protected by its stalwart Guardians.

"_Rocket Maaaaan_," he sang along with his mix tape. "_Buuurning__ out his fuse up here alooone_..."

* * *

**Authors Notes:  
**Please review if you enjoyed.

The bouncers are supposed to be the same unnamed race as Titus, the Nova betrayer and killer. None are supposed to be the real deal.

Sir Elton John obviously, gets credit for the song on Peter's mix-tape. Perfect year, and eminently appropriate for the Starlord.


End file.
